Let the Games Begin
by lookingupatthestars
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this. Dean was the one who always looked out for Sam. But this time, Sam has to step up to save Dean, and the cost may be devastating. Let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin. CURRENTLY ON SEMI-HIATUS DUE TO WRITERS' BLOCK.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the Hunger Games. If I did, I have a whole list of people who I wouldn't have let die.**

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Chapter 1

 _Dean crouched down low, moving slowly towards a hunched figure in the grass. His face was streaked with dirt and traces of blood and his clothes fared no better. He held a crude handmade spear in his right hand, poised for attack. The figure before him seemed oblivious to his approach and was fumbling with some sort of wire in his hands. It appeared that he was trying to set up a snare, but wasn't having the best of luck._

 _Dean was almost directly on top of the person. His prey seemed to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, with a large build and short brown hair. He had the beginnings of a beard on his face, which had a nasty looking burn on the left side. You did not want to get into a fight with this young man. The spark of intelligence in his eyes looked deadly._

 _Slowly, Dean pulled back his spear, aiming for the back of the still-unaware man. He positioned it carefully and heaved it forward._

 _But it never found its mark._

 _There was a blur of movement and Dean was knocked to the ground by another large man who had come flying out of the bushes to his right. The spear had fallen several feet away from its intended target, who had dived to the side. The new figure and Dean struggled for a moment, but Dean was overpowered. His adversary was a young black man, about sixteen, with a gleaming knife in his hands, which he held at Dean's throat._

 _"Gadreel?" The man called to his comrade, who rose from the ground and brushed some dirt from his leg._

 _"Well done, Gordan." Gadreel said, a cruel grin finding its way to his face as he observed Dean lying on the ground._

 _"So, Winchester, here we are at last," Gordan said with an insane smile. "I've been waiting for this since the beginning, hoping to be the one to take down the infamous Dean. How'd you score that eleven, huh? Think you're better than everyone else? Not feeling so confident right now, are you?"_

 _Dean glowered at Gordan. "Bite me." He spat out._

 _The deranged smile on Gordan's face only grew. "Adios, Winchester," he laughed. And with that, he swung the knife up and planted it deep into Dean's chest._

* * *

Sam awoke with a gasp, his fingers clutching the ratty old blanket he shared with his brother. The dream had been so vivid, so real. He lay there for a moment, the scene replaying itself over and over again in his mind until he felt sick. He hated getting dreams like this. They terrified him. They had started only recently, just a few months ago, but had begun building in frequency and intensity. And always, they showed him someone dying, someone slumping over in the streets from hunger and never rising again, someone suffocating in the mines, someone getting beaten to death over a piece of bread. Sometimes the dreams showed him deaths of people in different districts, and those dreams could be quite disturbing. He especially hated getting visions of people in District 11, because the deaths there were far more brutal and violent than simply dying from hunger. Sam's stomach lurched as he remembered one dream in particular where he had seen a young girl, no older than nine, being brutally flogged because she had stolen some food. She hadn't survived the beating.

With a shudder, Sam forced himself to relax. Dean's comforting warmth beside him assured him that his brother was here, safe, not in the Hunger Games. His heart rate kicked up a notch when he remembered suddenly that the reaping was today. Two kids would be picked today to compete in a fight to the death with twenty-two other children in an arena that could hold any kinds of unspeakable horror. The ones chosen from District 12 had almost no chance whatsoever of coming out alive. Here, if you were reaped, you were automatically considered dead. Once they had left to compete in the games, sometimes people would begin planning the funerals. It was sickening.

Sam rolled over onto his side and lay there for a moment, listening to the quiet of the house. He enjoyed waking up earlier than Dean and his father. It gave him time to think, to contemplate his life. But when he had dreams like this he almost wanted to wake Dean up and confide in his older brother. Neither Dean nor their father was quite sure what to make of the strange death dreams that Sam got, but Dean treated Sam seriously when he got them. Their father was more inclined to brush it off as something not important and tell Sam that he was too old to still be having nightmares. Dean would listen to every detail, his brow furrowed in concern, and after Sam was done they would both try to puzzle out the meaning behind the dreams. Sam wasn't sure if his visions were real or not, but more than once, deaths had occurred in exactly the same way as he had seen it just the night before. And he wasn't so sure it was just a freaky coincidence.

Dean groaned in his sleep and rolled over, his arm unconsciously flopping over Sam's body protectively. Sam had to smile. Even asleep, Dean watched out for his younger brother. It had been that way as long as he could remember, ever since their mom had died in a fire when Sam was just six months old. According to some of the other residents of Twelve, the fire had been devastating, burning down almost half of the houses in the district before it could be stopped. In the district of coal, a single spark in the wrong place could be catastrophic. A lot of people had died that night other than their mother. Their friend Castiel had lost his mother too.

The small smile fell from Sam's face as he thought about his nightmare. He had had bad dreams before of Dean dying, but those were different. This dream was startingly vivid, almost as if Sam was standing right there. He remembered every detail, down to the sound of a canon firing just before he awoke, signaling his brother's death. But it couldn't be real. There was no way Dean would be chosen today. The odds were in his favor to walk away later that day with a stormy expression on his face, furious that two more innocent kids had been taken away to their inevitable deaths, to sit and glare at the table in silence until it was time for bed.

 _But his name is in there twenty times,_ the annoying little voice in the back of his head whispered. _There's still a chance._ Sam told the voice in no uncertain terms to shut up. Really, he should be worrying unnecessarily about himself being reaped. His name was only in there once, because Dean had firmly refused that Sam sign up for tesserae, despite Sam's argument that they could use the extra food.

"No." He had said flatly. "You are not putting your name into that death trap any more times than you have to. We'll be fine without it."

"Dean-"

"Forget about it. End of discussion."

Sam had rolled his eyes and walked away, feeling rather annoyed at Dean's overprotective streak. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He should be able to make his own decisions without Dean breathing down his neck. But deep down, he understood Dean's adamence about not signing up for tesserae. Too many times, they had seen people they cared about who had signed up for the extra support be called up as tributes. If they didn't absolutely, definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt need the help, they wouldn't take the chance. And considering both Dean and their father's impressive hunting skills, they were fairly well off, for someone who lived in District Twelve. Sam wasn't too bad at hunting himself, either. He had a growing skill with a bow and could handle a knife fairly well, not to mention his proficiency in identifying plants and their various uses. Dean favored bringing down big game such as deer, but Sam rather prefered vegetation. It wasn't that he was squeamish or anything, he just didn't enjoy killing things, even when he had to. He figured he would let their father and Dean handle the meat part of their diets and he would make sure they ate enough "rabbit chow", as Dean called it.

Feeling tired, Sam lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep a little more before the reaping. Residents were allowed to sleep in today. Not that any of them were able to.

* * *

When Sam opened his eyes again, Dean's side of the bed was cold. He had obviously gotten up to go hunting, probably with Cas. John would stick around, just to ensure that Sam rose at an appropriate time to start getting ready. Sam could tell his father wanted to be out hunting, though. John was at ease doing what he did best, providing for his family, as opposed as to when he was stuck at home or in the mines.

Seeing Sam sit up and rub at his eyes, John rose from his chair where he was lacing up his boots. "Get yourself ready to go, Sam. The reaping is at two, so you have some time. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, he strode out the door.

"Yes, sir." Sam mumbled after him. The house was silent once again, only this time it felt lonely and empty. He was used to this though. His father could never be away from the woods for long. Sam sometimes felt resentful of the time John spent hunting rather than spending some real time with his kids. They only ever really talked to their father in the woods, and then it was in lowered voices about some tracks they had found, or a new kind of berry they had discovered. Never about things that mattered. Never about the past.

Never about their mother.

Among all the things Sam desperately wanted to know more about, his mother was one of them. He barely knew anything about her, other than the few vague facts he had gotten out of Dean. He didn't even bother asking their father. But according to Dean, and what little Cas remembered, Mary had been a beautiful woman, very vibrant and caring, who loved her family with everything she had. But then she had died the night Sam turned six months old, trapped in their burning house where no one could save her. Their father refused to talk about her, even say her name. Sam hadn't even known his mom's name until he was at least nine.

With a sigh, Sam rolled out of bed. Might as well eat something and get cleaned up to witness two families be torn apart in the worst way possible. The dream wouldn't leave him alone, however, replaying itself over and over in his mind, giving him an uneasy feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

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 **A/N: This is my first crossover fic, so I hope I'm doing well so far. I was wondering if maybe I should extend my chapters a little bit, since usually they stay relatively short. Please feel free to tell me what you think, I absolutely love feedback and it's always greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, I won't be posting updates too frequently. I'm insanely busy this summer. But trust me, I want this fic written even more than you do. I will make time whenever possible to write this thing. Please review, it means the world to me and helps to get me motivated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or The Hunger Games.**

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Chapter 2

When Dean and John came back from the hunt, Sam had already eaten and had taken a quick bath so that he would appear at least somewhat presentable at the reaping. Dean usually hardly even bothered changing his shirt, but Sam liked to look nice. It gave him the illusion of living somewhere other than Twelve, somewhere he didn't have to worry about going hungry, where he didn't have to watch people he knew die all too often.

Dean was in a relatively good mood, having caught a rabbit with a snare he had set up the previous day, and even John seemed pleased with how the hunt had gone.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said with a grin upon seeing his younger brother. Sam rolled his eyes. Dean's nickname for him had been alright when he was younger, but he was twelve now. He had outgrown nicknames. Of course, that was why Dean still called him that. And deep down, Sam actually liked it. Not that he would ever admit it.

"How's Cas doing?" Sam asked, trying to defuse the inevitable argument over his childhood name before it started.

Dean shrugged. "You know Cas, all sunshine and rainbows as usual."

Sam couldn't help but grin. Castiel was definitely not all sunshine and rainbows. He was a cynical, blunt type of person who had almost no verbal filter. You couldn't help but love the guy though. He was genuinely a kind and caring person and was fiercely loyal to his family and friends. Dean found him hilarious for his woe-is-me attitude, and John respected Cas enough to hunt with him on occasion. Sam liked Cas too. He greatly appreciated the way Cas was always willing to help Sam with school if he needed it, and Cas had taught Sam a lot about the different kinds of plants that grew nearby. He was remarkably patient with Sam's dozens of questions and answered them all seriously, treating Sam with the same respect as he had for John and Dean.

"Dean, you'd best start getting ready for this afternoon. Put on a clean shirt and comb your hair, for God's sake," John said. Dean flashed a cocky grin.

"Yes, sir," he said, with just the right amount of respect thrown in so John wouldn't have a reason to start yelling at him. He disappeared into the next room, supposedly to clean himself up. Sam was suddenly reminded of his dream. Should he tell Dean about it? He'd probably brush it off as a normal nightmare, and Sam was almost convinced that it might have been just that. But it had been so incredibly real, so lifelike, that he knew with dread in his heart that it was real. He shoved that thought away, deep into the back of his mind. It couldn't be real. Everything would be okay. It always was.

* * *

The mood in their small group was subdued when one o'clock came around and everyone began heading down to the square. Even though today was technically a holiday, the general atmosphere was anything but festive. The underlying current of tension and fear was particularly acute among the twelve year olds whose names had been entered for the first time, and most of them were taking tesserae now. Sam couldn't help but feel grateful for Dean's insistence that he not take tesserae. If he were reaped, he wouldn't last a day in the arena. The other kids would all be older, more skillful, and more murderous. Sam knew he would never kill anyone willingly, but if it was self defense, he might not have a choice, and the thought of killing someone to save his own life made him feel sick.

Dean made sure Sam signed in before giving him a fake smile that Sam could see right through to the apprehension and concern that lay just beneath the surface, and disappearing into the crowd of sixteen year olds near the front. Sam stood stiffly with the younger kids in the back, his heart beating quicker than normal. There was no way the dream would come true. Dean couldn't be reaped. The odds of that happening weren't even worth getting worried over.

As the town clock struck two, the mayor rose from his seat and began the same elaborate speech he did every year, about how the districts rebelled against the Capitol and as a punishment, the Hunger Games were created. Each year, two tributes, one male and one female, would be reaped from each of the twelve districts to compete in a fight to the death in an outdoor arena until only one person remained. That person would be rewarded with vast amounts of riches and would be forever free from the reaping ever again. Tributes from Twelve never lasted long. The last victor they had had won twenty-four years ago and spent his days buying up as much liquor as he could get his hands on.

Speech over, the mayor sat down and Charlene Bradbury stepped up to take his place. Charlene was an attractive young woman, wearing a bright green dress that reminded Sam of the leaves in the woods.

"Happy Hunger Games," she said, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. No one in Twelve approved of the Games, not really. Even the mayor had delivered his speech in the same monotone he did every year. "And may the odds be ever in your favor." Her eyes looked almost apologetic to Sam. No, she definitely did not enjoy this, but Sam couldn't help but feel grateful for that. Charlene seemed to understand that to be chosen for the Hunger Games was not an honor in Twelve. It was a death sentence.

"Ladies first," she declared, moving over to the clear ball that held the names of all the girls in the district. She fished around in it for a little while, stirring up some of the names, before finally pulling out a single slip of paper. The entire district seemed to hold its collective breath as Charlene unfolded it and cleared her throat.

"Jessica Moore."

Sam closed his eyes. Not Jessica. No, please, not Jessica.

He had harbored a small crush on Jessica for several years, and now she was going to die. The crowd murmured its displeasure at a twelve year old being chosen. If it was an older child, at least you could have the slightest flicker of hope that they might survive. But a twelve year old girl from District Twelve? Not a chance.

Sam watched helplessly as the crowd shifted to make way for Jessica, who walked slowly up towards the stage, the shock and fear plain in her eyes. No one stepped forward to volunteer. No one ever did.

"And now for the male tribute," Charlene announced. Sam's stomach clenched tightly. But Dean wouldn't be chosen. There was no way. Dean was just too... Dean to die.

 _Twenty times,_ the annoying voice in the back of his head whispered.

 _Shut up,_ Sam told it.

The stretch of time while Charlene dug around in the glass ball was almost unbearable. No one moved or spoke or even seemed to breath as she unfolded the slip of paper and said the two words that brought Sam's world to a grinding halt.

"Dean Winchester."

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 **A/N: Sorry that this chapter is pretty short, but the next chapter is relatively long and I had to separate this one from it to make it a decent length. The next chapter will be up within a few days, I promise! Reviews are always appreciated and loved. Have a happy Fourth of July everyone!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the Hunger Games.**

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Chapter 3

Sam felt as if he were underwater. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear. This couldn't be happening. No. Not Dean. Anyone but Dean.

There was a stunned silence that stretched on for several seconds before Dean started moving towards the platform. He wore a slight, cocky grin, but Sam knew his older brother better than anyone, and he could see the shock, the disbelief, the fear that lay underneath. And it was that grin, that fake, fearful grin, that moved Sam to do the unthinkable.

"I volunteer!" He cried out, shoving his way forward through the crowd of kids, who parted almost instantly at his cry. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Every head turned to him. Sam refused to look at Dean, his father, Cas, anyone, but met Charlene's eyes with a desperate defiance. She looked stunned. Twelve-year-olds did not volunteer for sixteen-year-olds. It was unthinkable. Especially considering who he was volunteering for. Dean was relatively well known throughout the district. Everyone knew of Dean as a confident, strong, capable young man. If anyone in the district had even a slim chance at winning the Games, it was Dean.

Sam was known too, but mostly for just being Dean's younger brother. Sam was not considered much of a fighter. Everyone knew that Dean was the tough one in the family.

But Sam had volunteered for Dean.

"Well, uh, it looks like we have a volunteer," said Charlene, still looking stunned. Sam began moving silently towards the front.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean's voice echoed through the silent square. Sam kept walking, the crowd parting for him easily. Please, Dean, he begged silently. Don't make a scene.

"SAM!" Dean lunged towards Sam, to push him back, to keep him away, but Peacekeepers restrained him. He fought with everything he had against them. "SAM!"

"Dean, don't," Sam said through gritted teeth. He reached the stage and climbed the steps in a daze. He felt like he was going to pass out. No, he told himself. This will be televised. You'll already be considered the weak one, if you faint right off the stage you'll be an even bigger target. Dean was still fighting against the white-clad Peacekeepers. One of them raised his gun and loudly ordered Dean to stop.

"Wait, please, let me through," a quiet voice came from somewhere near the front. Sam looked down to see Cas pushing his way to Dean. He reached his side and spoke in a low, vaguely threatening voice. Whatever he said, it caused Dean to go limp in the Peacekeepers' arms, and he was released. Cas held Dean's arm in a firm grip, staring up at Sam with a grim look on his face. No anger, no questioning, just a grim acceptance. Sam swallowed hard. Cas understood that Sam had done this for a reason. He may not know what the reason was, but he trusted Sam enough to not cause a scene, and Sam was thankful for that. It was bad enough that Dean had gone off without Cas getting into it too.

"What's your name?" Charlene asked him gently. Sam felt a vague sense of surprise that he was being spoken to, but every eye in the square was on him again.

"Sam Winchester," he said, relieved that his voice was still working properly.

"Was that your brother, Sam?" She asked, looking at Sam in a way that made him want to burst into tears for no explicable reason.

"Yes." If he didn't sit down soon, he was going to fall down, and he desperately wished to avoid that being on television.

The Treaty of Treason was read aloud, and Sam managed to get a handle on his emotions enough that when he shook hands with Jessica, his hands didn't shake. The anthem of Panem began and Sam fixed his eyes firmly on a spot above the crowd so he didn't have to look at anyone.

So he didn't have to meet Dean's eyes.

Almost immediately after the anthem ended, Sam and Jessica were quickly escorted inside the Justice Building, where they were separated and placed in different rooms. Sam sat on the couch provided and focused very hard on not throwing up all over the velvet. He needed to compose himself so that he didn't completely fall apart when Dean and John came in.

When they finally did come, Sam was ready. He wasn't at all surprised at the stormy expression on Dean's face, but the mixed look of anger, fear, and even a small amount of desperation on their father's face was unexpected.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean asked furiously. The rage in his eyes was the most intense Sam had ever seen it.

"Dean, listen," he began calmly.

"No Sam, you listen." Dean paced around the room in agitation. "What the hell was that? Why did you volunteer? I'm older than you, I had a better chance at winning. You're supposed to stay safe at home, not going up against twenty-three other kids who all want to kill you!" Dean was properly yelling now, not even bothering to lower his voice.

"Dean, calm down," John said sternly. "You're not doing any good getting all worked up like this. Now Sam," he said, turning to his youngest son. "Why did you volunteer for Dean?"

Sam couldn't meet their eyes. "I had another dream," he said quietly. "Dean was in the Games. He died."

The silence only lasted a moment before Dean exploded again. "Damn it Sam, you don't even know if these dreams are real or not! It was just some freaky-ass coincidence, not an actual vision. You volunteered because you had just another stupid bad dream and now you're in the Games! Do you realize what you've done?"

"Dean, stop yelling." John glared at Dean.

Sam sighed, fighting for control over his raging emotions. "Dean, it wasn't a bad dream, it was real. You died in the Hunger Games. Another tribute stabbed you. What was I supposed to do, just let it happen? Let you get yourself killed and have them deliver your body to us in a casket? I'm not going to let that happen, Dean. I'm not going to let you die knowing that I could have done something to prevent it from happening!"

"You couldn't have found some other way to do it?" Dean yelled, waving his arms around wildly. Sam fixed him with a firm gaze.

"Dean, you've been looking out for me my whole life. It's my turn now to protect you."

Dean shook his head, running his hands through his hair. He appeared to be speechless for the time being.

"Well Sam, you're in the Games now, whether you like it or not, so you might as well listen to me for a minute," John spoke up. Sam nodded along with his lecture on finding water, finding food, finding shelter, making himself a weapon, what he should do if he found himself in combat with another tribute. He knew the basics, but was grateful for John's practical approach to the whole thing. He didn't think he could handle it if John started yelling too.

His speech done, John seemed suddenly at a loss for words. Dean had stopped pacing and was glaring at the wall as if it had personally offended him.

"Dean?" Sam spoke up hesitantly. Dean continued glaring at the wall. Sam suddenly felt extremely frustrated. "Dean, listen, what's done is done. I'm a tribute now. There isn't anything we can do."

Dean finally turned to meet his eyes. "I know," he said quietly. The pain in those two simple words made Sam feel ten times worse. He knew that Dean took his unofficial job of watching out for Sam very seriously, and not being able to keep his little brother safe was tearing him apart.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam meant it, too. He wasn't sorry that he volunteered, he was sorry for what volunteering had done to Dean. The next few weeks would be hell for both of them, albeit in different ways.

Dean walked over to Sam and hugged him fiercely. Sam clung to his older brother and tried to keep himself from crying. John encircled his arms around both of the boys, and they all stood like that for a long time until the Peacekeepers came to the door to order John and Dean out.

"Wait, Sam," Dean said, reaching up to his neck and fumbling with something. "Take this as your token."

Sam looked down at the thing Dean thrust into his hands. It was Dean's treasured necklace, the one he always wore, every day.

"Thanks, Dean." He choked out. Dean hugged him tightly again until the Peacekeepers pried him off and propelled him towards the door.

"You can win this, Sam," Dean called frantically. "You can win this thing!" The doors shut behind him, taking away what could very well be Sam's last glimpse of his brother. The words echoed in Sam's mind.

 _You can win this._

Sam's fingers curled around the necklace. "I will, Dean," he vowed. "I will win this."

The doors opened again, and Sam had a brief moment of hope that it would be Dean again before Cas walked in.

"Hello, Sam." Cas said, looking slightly awkward.

"Hey Cas," Sam said with a small grin, and suddenly it seemed as if the whole world was about to collapse around him. He was going to die. He was never going to see his brother again. He was going to die in the arena with no one to protect him.

He didn't realize he had said all of that out loud until Cas was giving him a hug and assuring him in a calm, soothing voice that none of that was true, that he could win the Games, that he was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for. Sam clung to the words of comfort like they were a lifeline.

"Sam, I think you can win this." Cas said seriously, looking Sam straight in the eye. "You're smart, you're resourceful, you're fast. They'll underestimate you. You can win."

Sam searched Cas's eyes for a lie, but there was nothing but confidence in them. Cas honestly believed that he could win, and somehow that helped more than anything else.

"Make sure Dean is okay," Sam said, thoughts turning back to his older brother. "Can you, please?"

Cas laughed softly and gave Sam's shoulder a quick squeeze. "Of course I will Sam. You just concentrate on making it home in one piece, alright?"

"Alright." Sam whispered. They just sat together in comfortable silence until it was time for Cas to go. He stood and met Sam's eyes again.

"Remember Sam, you're a fighter. You can do this. I have faith in you." And with that, Cas left, leaving Sam just a little more encouraged than he was before.

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 **A/N: This chapter gave me a few problems for some reason, but I'm happy with how it turned out. The next chapter should be up soon. Reviews are, as always, welcomed and very much loved.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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Chapter 4

The train ride was an entirely new experience for Sam. He had never even been in a car before, but now he was traveling to the Capitol at over two hundred miles per hour.

At least he had managed to keep himself from completely losing it at the train station. Reporters had been everywhere, sticking their cameras in every direction. But Sam was far too good at maintaining a blank face while his emotions ran wild, and Jessica had even handled herself well, not crying or panicking, but calmly moving along beside Sam.

Everything seemed to have happened so quickly. How was it that just a few hours ago he had been safe at home, eating his breakfast, and now he was heading towards the Capitol before being thrown mercilessly into an arena with twenty-three other kids to fight to the death? Sam's head swam as he tried to puzzle everything out, so he stopped trying.

The room he was given was so fancy he was almost afraid to move around in it. He took a quick shower and dressed hurriedly, though he wasn't entirely sure why he was rushing. Charlene would collect him when it was time to eat. What time was it, he wondered. The reaping hadn't lasted too long, then there were the goodbyes, then the train station. It must have been around five then.

A knock at the door announced Charlene's summons to dinner. Before leaving his room, Sam slipped on Dean's necklace, drawing a slight comfort from the thing he closely associated with his brother. Dean's words came back to him as he headed out the door.

 _You can win this thing._

He wasn't so sure about that, but he would damn well try.

Jessica was already seated when he came in, and she gave him a small smile. He grinned back at her. Two twelve-year-olds from District Twelve who had basically no chance of survival. The media would have a field day with them, especially Sam, who had stepped forward to volunteer for his sixteen-year-old, much more capable than him brother.

"Do either of you know where Bobby ran off to?" Charlene asked, sitting down in a chair. Sam followed suite, shrugging his shoulders in response.

"No idea," Jessica said. "I barely even noticed him at the reaping."

"Me neither," said Sam. Then again, he hadn't really been paying attention to the one living victor of the Hunger Games that District Twelve had. He had been more focused on not falling off of the stage.

Charlene sighed, looking tired. "No, I suppose you didn't. Well, he'll turn up eventually. Let's eat, shall we?"

Supper was delicious, and even though Sam was still feeling nauseous, he knew that adding a few pounds before the Games was a wise move. The food was better than anything he had ever tasted, and by the time he had finished eating he was more than full. He focused on not throwing up as they headed into another compartment. It was time to watch the recap of the reapings. He would be seeing the people he was up against. He needed to focus. Before they sat, he asked Charlene for a piece of paper and a pencil. She obliged, looking rather confused.

Most of the tributes were larger than Sam, better built, older, smarter, faster. He wrote down their names on the paper, adding the district they were from and what his first impression of them was.

District Two, Gadreel. His throat closed up as he recognized the tribute from his dream. The one who had sat back and watched as the other one stabbed Dean. His hand shaking slightly, he wrote on the paper:

 _Gadreel. District Two. Allies with Gordan. HIGHLY DANGEROUS._

The other tributes all passed by quickly, with just a few sticking out in Sam's head. The small twelve-year-old from District Seven, Adam, looked small but defiant up on the stage. Something told Sam that Adam would go down fighting.

District Eleven. He knew the name before it was announced, and couldn't repress a shudder as he watched Gordan mount the stage. That was the man who would have killed his brother. The man who would have stabbed Dean in the chest.

 _Gordan. District Eleven. Allies with Gadreel. HIGHLY DANGEROUS. NEVER APPROACH UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES._

Sam stared at the paper for a minute before erasing the last sentence and putting in its place:

 _Kill him myself._

It was suicide, he knew, but seeing him stand on that stage with a proud half-smile on his face and murder in his eyes, he had never wanted to see a man dead more than Gordan in his life. He would do it. For Dean.

Finally, District Twelve. Sam avoided looking at the screen as Dean's name was called. He heard his own voice, panicky and desperate, volunteering in Dean's place. The commentators seemed very confused as to why on earth would a twelve-year-old volunteer. Sam privately agreed with them. He was probably the first one in the history of Twelve to do so.

Charlene sighed again as the program ended. "Well, it's not going to be easy, but one of you is going to come back alive if I have anything to say about it," she said resolutely. Sam looked at her in surprise. Her eyes were lit with determination.

"But, Miss Bradbury-"

"Please, call me Charlie, all my friends do," she interrupted. "And no buts about it. One of you is going back home to your family whether you like it or not. You're going to do Twelve proud."

Sam was reminded of the surety in Cas's eyes when he told Sam that he could win. The determination in Dean's voice when he said the same. Everyone kept telling him that he could win. Were they right? Or was it just to boost his confidence?

Bobby entered the room then, smelling distinctly like alcohol. He didn't appear to be drunk however, but was definitely on his way to being that way.

"Well, you kids got yourselves into this mess, we might as well try to dig you out of it," he said simply, then turned and left again. Sam felt the insane urge to laugh, but restrained himself.

"Not one to waste words, is he?" Jessica remarked. Sam couldn't repress a snort of laughter at that. He didn't know Bobby very well, but he had seen him around enough to get a general impression of the man. The term "functioning alcoholic" came to mind if you were to try to describe him. He was relatively old, at least by Twelve's standards, and despite his wealth he dressed very similar to the rest of the district's residents. John was said to have been on fairly good terms with Bobby, and it was rumored that after Mary died, Bobby had shown up unannounced one evening with several bottles of whisky, which he wordlessly shared with John until both of them were in a drunken stupor. The two of them had had an unspoken respect for each other since then.

Charlie smiled at Jessica. "Oh, Bobby's a sweetheart when you get to know him. He's smart, too. We'll get one of you out alive, don't worry." With that, she stood and left the compartment. The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Why did you volunteer for your brother?" Jessica asked abruptly, turning to face Sam. She looked so small and innocent sitting there that Sam suddenly found it very difficult to look her in the eye.

"I guess I sort of panicked," he said, not really lying. "I mean, he's my brother. The other tributes are all going to be faster, smarter, more brutal. He can hold his own in a fight, but..." Sam trailed off, the sickening memory of the knife piercing his brother's chest dancing in front of his eyes.

"Yeah, I get it," she said with a sympathetic frown. "The others won't hesitate to kill someone, but he might, and that could get him killed."

Sam blinked, surprised. In all honesty, that was another thing that had worried him. Even if he didn't volunteer and he still found a way to warn Dean about Gordan, he was afraid that Dean might not kill someone even if he had to, leading to his untimely death. But then, there was the other, almost more terrifying possibility. Dean might not hesitate for one second to kill anyone and everyone, turning himself into a monster. If he came back like that, Sam would almost have wanted him not to come home again at all.

"Would you?" Jessica spoke up again.

"Would I what?"

"Kill someone. If you had to."

That was the question that Sam was struggling with. The truth was, he didn't know what he would or wouldn't do to save himself. He could convince himself that if he didn't make it out of the Games alive, Dean would fall apart, so he had to win, for Dean. But when it came right down to it, it was all about him. And not knowing if he would willingly end another person's life or not terrified him more than anything else that had happened that day.

In response to Jessica's question, he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, honestly," he said. "On one hand, I want to live, I want to win, I want to make it out alive, but on the other hand, how could I do something like that? How could I kill someone? How could I do that to their family? No one should have to watch their kid die and see the person who killed them live. That's just sick."

Jessica nodded, looking older than her twelve years. "I know. This whole thing, it's just wrong." Her eyes went wide as she realized that what she just said could very well get her killed. No one was supposed to question the Games. If you did, you kept it to yourself. John had drilled that into both of his children, although Dean was less prone to follow John's instruction. He didn't exactly run down the street screaming about how the Hunger Games were a cruel, horrible thing and that the president should die, but when he was with Sam, John, or Cas, he let loose with exactly what he thought about everything. Sam was smart enough not to repeat what Dean said, but he privately agreed with him.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. There didn't seem to be anything else to say after that. They both just sat there for a long time, thinking their own private thoughts until long after they both should have gone to bed.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the longish break, I had a small case of writers' block and forgot to post for a few days. I want to tell you that the next chapter will be up soon, but I'm going on vacation for a week and won't be able to write at all while I'm away, so I don't really know when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully sometime before I leave this week, but no promises. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, it absolutely means the world to me. Every time someone follows, favorites, or reviews, it really does make my whole day. You guys are the reason I'm writing this, after all. I'm already working on the next chapter, so I'll try to push myself to get it done and published within the next few days. Hope to see your review soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.**

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Chapter 5

His dreams that night were all dark and disturbing, with Gordan and Gadreel popping up frequently. The sound the knife made as it entered Dean's body played itself over and over again until Sam thought he would lose any sanity he had left. When he finally awoke with a gasp just as the first few rays of light began appearing in the sky, he was sweating profusely and shaking. A quick shower later and a change of clothes had him composed for breakfast.

When he arrived in the dining car, Bobby, Jessica, and Charlie were already seated. Charlie was talking to Jessica about some of the people she knew from the Capitol, and Bobby was sipping a cup of what Sam recognized as coffee.

"Hey, Sam," Charlie said with a bright smile. "Ready to eat?"

Sam nodded and sat. He liked Charlie, he decided. She didn't pretend like the Hunger Games was just another form of entertainment, but she took a positive approach to it instead of being all doom and gloom.

Jessica gave him a small smile. "Charlie was just telling me a little bit about the Capitol people. They seem...interesting."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "They're all a bunch of brightly colored birds. You'll see what I mean when you meet a few. The clothes they wear make my eyes hurt sometimes."

Sam grinned, the ever-present knot of tension in his gut loosening somewhat. He ate a little more slowly than he did yesterday, not wanting to make himself sick. Charlie chattered on throughout the meal while Bobby nursed his coffee and ripped a role into several pieces. The atmosphere was generally relaxed, and Sam could almost forget just why he was here in the first place.

That is, until the food was all gone and Bobby straightened up from his chair.

"Well, now it's time to talk strategy," he said conversationally. The knot in Sam's stomach tightened again. It was time to decide what the plan was for when they were thrown into the arena. How they would survive the first day. How they would hopefully continue to survive until one of them was the last person standing.

Charlie glanced at a thin, silver watch she wore on her wrist. "Hurry," she advised. "We'll be pulling into the train station soon."

Bobby nodded at her. "Obviously, if either of you two get into a hands-on fight with another tribute, it's all over, so I would suggest staying away from the larger tributes." He took another gulp of coffee. "Now Sam, I know you have a few skills with a bow, so that's probably your best bet. Kill at a distance."

Sam avoided directly looking at Jessica or Charlie. Technically, hunting in the woods was illegal, so he shouldn't even know how to hold a bow, much less how to accurately use the thing.

"Jessica, I know you can handle a knife pretty well," Bobby said, seemingly unaware that that piece of information might have been something he shouldn't have known. "So if you do get into combat with someone about your size, you might have a chance at making it out alive. Now, what do either of you know about how to find water?"

There was a long pause before Jessica tentatively raised her hand. "Um, it's usually found at the lowest point?"

Bobby nodded approvingly. "Just travel downhill and you'll probably find some. A stream or river is your safest bet for clean water, but there are ways to clean bad water. If you're lucky, sponsors might hook you up with something."

The train car was plunged into darkness, signaling that they were passing through a tunnel. Bobby glanced up.

"Almost there. Do what the stylists tell you. Don't mouth off or say anything stupid and you'll be fine." With that, he rose and left the room. Charlie followed him, giving Sam and Jessica a quick, reassuring smile over her shoulder.

The view, once they were out of the tunnel, was admittedly stunning. The buildings were looming high overhead, the residents clothed in ridiculous outfits that were assumedly in fashion, but for the life of him Sam couldn't fathom why. Charlie was right when she called them brightly colored birds. The way they chattered to each other excitedly as they watched the train pull in reminded Sam of the birds in the woods at home. A pang of homesickness just worked to increase the size of the knot in his stomach.

Jessica sighed as she looked at the people. "I bet they've never missed a meal in a day of their lives."

Sam nodded his agreement. Hunger was not an issue in the Capitol. Not the way it was in the districts.

And never the way it was in Twelve.

* * *

Sam rather liked his stylist. He didn't pay much attention to his prep team, but Ellen seemed nice enough. She had a motherly attitude towards Sam and didn't seem to be just another airheaded bimbo from the Capitol. She dressed plainly, wearing black pants and a dark blue shirt, with a thin gold chain around her neck. It didn't look like she was wearing any makeup, but what did Sam know about that sort of thing anyway?

Ellen let Sam get dressed before they moved on to eat lunch and discuss the ceremonial outfit he would be wearing.

"Now, sweetie, Jessica's stylist, Kevin, and I both agree that your outfits need to be something different, something memorable. What are your thoughts on fire?"

The haziest of memories, possibly just a dream, floated into Sam's head. Unbearable heat, a panicked voice, the sensation of being carried somewhere. Just the vaguest of impressions, but he realized that it must have been the night his mother died.

"I'm not too keen on that," he said, his mouth twitching into a slightly bitter grin. Ellen nodded.

"Well, like it or not, it's what we're planning to do. A little fake fire and you'll be the most dazzling tributes in the whole ceremony."

Before he knew it, Sam was dressed in a simple black outfit with black boots, with a headdress and a cape that Ellen informed him would be ignited right before they entered the precession. "Don't you worry now, the fire isn't real, so the odds of you getting torched are practically nothing."

Standing beside him by the chariots dressed in an identical outfit, Jessica snorted quietly. "Oh, well, practically nothing, that's reassuring."

Sam had to concentrate very hard to not start laughing.

It was their turn before too long. They mounted the chariot and Ellen reached up to set them on fire. At the sight of the flames, Sam's chest constricted painfully and he had to take a few deep breaths to avoid a full blown panic attack. But the flames did seem to be harmless, and they didn't burn him at all.

Ellen examined them for a moment before her eyes lit up with another idea, and she gestured to the two of them frantically. Did she want Sam and Jessica to hold hands? Apparently so. Reaching out tentatively, Sam grasped Jessica's hand in his own. She looked at him in surprise for a second before she nodded her understanding.

"If I pass out in this thing, catch me, will you?" she whispered. Sam flashed a grin at her.

"If you do the same for me."

"Deal."

The chariot started moving and they entered the city.

After the initial shock at their appearance, the crowd erupted in applause. Sam was sure that they must have looked incredible for the response to be this enthusiastic. And sure enough, when he glanced at a large television screen broadcasting their image to the crowd, his breath caught in his throat. Jessica looked radiant standing next to him, a beaming smile on her face as she waved to the crowd. She was sure to get sponsors at this rate. Sam didn't look too bad either. Realizing that he needed to make an effort if he was to get sponsors, he waved with his free hand, his face relaxing somewhat into a genuine smile. Dean would be watching this at home. He needed to look in control.

The chariots pulled up to the front of the president's mansion and eased to a halt. President Metatron started his speech, but Sam got the feeling that the crowd wasn't giving him much attention. The flames were only getting more noticeable and stunning as it grew darker. The national anthem played and the chariots began moving again. Sam glanced at the television screen and noted with amusement that their chariot was getting much more airtime than any of the others. A spark of hope ignited in his chest. There had to be at least one person in the vast crowd who would sponsor them. They could have a chance with the right tools. Maybe one of them could actually win.

As soon as they entered the Training Center, they were practically mobbed by the stylists and prep teams. Ellen was beaming proudly at the two of them, and the man who was assumedly Jessica's stylist, Kevin, was nodding at the two of them with a similar expression of happiness on his face.

"Both of you were great," Ellen said enthusiastically. "You were very composed up there. Mark my words, there's going to be a lot of people in that crowd who'll want to sponsor you."

"I felt like I was going to pass out," Jessica said in a daze. Sam nodded his agreement as he pried his hand away from Jessica's. He found he rather missed the comforting contact.

"I was shaking a little up there," he admitted.

"Don't worry, it didn't show," Ellen assured him. "Everyone gets nervous going up in front of so many people, it's only natural. But considering how young both of you are, you handled everything beautifully. Your families will be so proud of you."

Sam felt a tug at his insides at the thought of Dean and his father at home watching him. He wondered how Dean had reacted to their fiery outfits. Dean had been the one to pull him out of the fire the night his mom died, so he imagined that he had probably not taken a liking to seeing his younger brother covered in flames for people's amusement.

Jessica sighed next to him, sounding melancholy. Sam realized that while he had willingly (well, not really) volunteered for this, Jessica had no choice. No one had come forward to take her place, to protect her.

Well, if no one else would, then he would try to. If he couldn't win the Games, then he wanted Jessica to. For Twelve. For her family.

And maybe she could ease Dean's guilt that his younger brother had volunteered for him to keep him safe, only to die in his place.

* * *

 **A/N: I finally forced myself to sit down and write this thing so that I could post it before I went on vacation. I'm leaving tomorrow and won't be back for a week, and there's no internet, so I won't be able to write anything while I'm up there. So the next update will take awhile. Sorry! Thanks again to everyone who reads this and favorites/follows/reviews. You guys rock.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Chapter 6

Sam had to admit, the Training Center was a sight to behold. The elevator ride alone was thrilling, shooting straight up in the air in a glass case so that you could see the ground rushing away from you. He privately wanted to go on again, but restrained himself from asking. The room he was given was lovely as well, so large that his whole family could live comfortably in it, and with so many mechanisms it made his head swim. Just the shower alone was stocked with gadgets he wasn't even aware existed. Honestly, it seemed like a bit much for just a shower, but considering what kind of hell he would be going through in the next few weeks, he felt that a little leisure time was justified.

He hadn't really realized until now just how much he missed home. But somehow, everything just seemed more acute tonight. He missed the quiet of the woods, the sound of birds singing to each other early in the morning. He missed going to school and seeing the familiar faces of his classmates. He was even starting to miss the food back at home.

Well, he wouldn't go that far.

But above everything else, he missed Dean and John. How could he not, when they were all he had in this world? He wondered what they were doing right now. The replay of the ceremonies would be broadcast later. Would they watch in the square or in the privacy of their own home? Would they be proud? Stunned? Hopeful? Seeing the reaction of the crowd, would they think that maybe he still had a shot at coming home?

Charlie's knock at the door pulled him from his musings. It was time for dinner. It seemed like it was the only thing he ever did these days, eating vast amounts of rich food until he felt ill before going to bed to suffer through yet another night plagued with nightmares. Sam just wasn't used to being so inactive. He was used to going out to the woods to hunt, to gather greens and berries, to fish, to set snares. He was just starting to get the hang of a decent snare before he left, too. Well, if he made it home alive, it wouldn't matter if he was good at it or not. They wouldn't need to hunt anymore. They would be ridiculously rich and never want for anything ever again.

As he walked to the dining room, Sam couldn't help but feel that being wealthy was pretty much the last thing he wanted. He didn't need anything in his old life. He had Dean and John. He had a house. He wasn't starving like so many others in Twelve. He was doing well in school, unlike Dean, who enjoyed bringing down deer much more than solving math problems. But then everything had changed, and it could never go back to the way it was again.

Why did Dean's name have to be the one picked? Why couldn't some other person have been chosen instead? Sam entertained these thoughts for a moment before feeling horribly ashamed of himself. If anyone else had gotten picked, they would have had no chance of survival whatsoever. Of every child in the district, Dean, Cas, and Sam were easily the most capable of surviving the Games. And if Sam or Cas had been chosen, Dean would have volunteered in a heartbeat. So really, it was for the best that Dean had been chosen. At least one other family had been spared the heartache of what was to come.

Ellen and Kevin were in the dining room along with Bobby and Charlie. Jessica was sitting next to Ellen, playing with her fork and staring down at her plate. The knowledge that in so short a time she would be thrown into an environment of bloodthirsty tributes who would want nothing more than to see the light leave her eyes was so painful that Sam had to avert his gaze. It didn't help matters that his thoughts kept drifting to her radiant smile while riding in the chariot, her face aglow with the fiery blaze of her cape.

 _Stop,_ he told himself furiously as he sat down. There was no place for love in the Games. And he had to make it home to Dean. He had to.

He focused instead on the food that was being brought out. The cost of it must have been staggering, at least in Twelve. Here in the Capitol, no one gave a second thought to spending horrendous amounts of money on things they didn't even need. A knot of resentment grew in Sam's stomach. It wasn't fair that while the people here had more wealth than they knew what to do with, people in the districts were starving to death. Well, not in all the districts. One, Two, and Four, commonly known as the Career districts, were favorites of the Capitol. Sam bet that no one in those districts had ever gone to bed still hungry, or had to hunt in order to stay alive. But really, that was an advantage on his part. If, in the Games, he could get rid of whatever source the Careers were using for food, they would have to gather their own.

Dinner was a bit of a blur, really. At one point, a cake was brought out, and it was lit on fire for a few seconds. Sounds of exclamation came from every mouth at the table, and Sam had to admit that it looked stunning. He had only had cake once or twice in his life before, but this cake was far better than anything made in Twelve. If he ever made it back home, he wasn't sure he would ever again get used to the inferior food.

Guilt swelled in his stomach. He should be grateful at all to have any food. Most of Twelve's residents were starving while he and his family at least had enough food to keep them alive. And if he won, he would be getting far better food than he had before.

Sam barely registered that they had moved into the sitting room to watch the replay of the ceremonies until he found himself seated between Charlie and Jessica. The other couples in the ceremony looked rather good as well, but it was obvious who was the favorite of the crowd. When their chariot rolled out, even their own little group let out exclamations of awe. Sam had to restrain himself from doing likewise when he saw Jessica. She was glowing like the sun, her posture proud, her waving hand never trembling. She looked, in that moment, like a goddess.

 _Dear God,_ Sam thought, _I've really gotten myself into a mess this time._

He had to admit, he didn't look too bad either standing next to Jessica. He appeared to be relaxed, even excited, and though Sam was positive that his knees had been shaking, it wasn't visible at all.

They were, quite simply, a hit.

After the screen had faded to black, their little group began to slowly disperse. Sam remained on the couch, lost in his thoughts. He might have stayed there all night if a hand on his shoulder hadn't startled him so badly he almost fell off of the couch.

"Oh, geez, sorry," Jessica said, jerking her hand back.

"It's fine, fine," he said. Why was he so jumpy? Well, other than the whole impending death thing. Or was it just the effect Jessica had on him?

If he could have, he would have put his head in his hands and seriously reevaluated just how stupid he really was. Falling in love right before he went off into the Games?

 _Falling in love?_

Good lord, he really was a moron.

"Are you okay?" Jessica asked him, peering at him uncertainly. "You've been kind of distant lately. It's not like you."

"How would you know anything about me?" Sam laughed. "We've spoken maybe twice before all of this happened."

She blushed violently. "I've paid attention to you. Is there something wrong with that?"

Considering how closely Sam had been paying attention to her before everything, he couldn't really judge.

"Suppose not," he said softly. The silence between them was oddly comfortable. Jessica leaned back against the couch and sighed quietly.

"Why us?" she said suddenly, turning to face him. "I mean, why did we have to be chosen for this? Why not someone else? I don't want anyone else to suffer, but the odds of us being picked..."

A bitter smile crept across Sam's face. "The odds were not in our favor, I suppose."

Jessica sniffed. With a jolt, Sam realized that there were tears in her eyes. She wiped impatiently at them.

"Sorry, I'm just so tired."

Being a Winchester, Sam wasn't always very in tune with dealing with weeping females, but gut instinct told him to put his arm around Jessica's shoulder. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sniffed again.

"I miss home," she said plaintively. "I just want to go home."

Sam sighed. "It's okay Jessica. It'll be okay." She didn't need to know that he didn't really believe himself.

A small chuckle made its way out of her mouth. "Call me Jess. All my friends do."

"Jess." It fit, Sam decided. "Don't worry Jess. Everything will work out. We have a chance."

And with that, Sam knew, with a sinking heart, that he would do everything in his power to make sure that Jess made it home, not him. She deserved to live. She deserved to have a life to enjoy. She was too young for this, too innocent. If he didn't protect her, she would die. And he couldn't live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life, knowing that he let an innocent girl die when he could have done something to keep her safe.

 _I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so, so sorry. Please understand. You would do the same thing, I know you would._

 _Please forgive me._

* * *

 **A/N: I hate myself so much for not updating sooner. Trust me, I do. But I had vacation, and sports, and I started listening to Welcome to Night Vale. And I hate to do this to you guys, but the next update will probably take awhile too. School starts for me soon, and I've got field hockey practice, so this is going to have to take a lower priority for now. Sorry sorry sorry. I'll update as soon as I possibly can though, so don't give up on me just yet. Thank you so much to everyone who bothers to read this and actually enjoys it. I'm stunned by the support I've been getting. You guys are amazing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

That night, Sam slept unusually well. Maybe the fatigue of the last few poor nights sleep was finally catching up with him and his body decided he needed a break. In any case, he was grateful. Today was the first day of training with the other tributes. He needed to be alert. He needed to study his fellow tributes and discover their strengths and weaknesses. Honing up on a few survival skills would probably be a good idea too. The better prepared he was, the better chance he would live longer to protect Jess.

No matter what, he couldn't deny the guilty knot in his gut. He was betraying Dean by vowing to bring Jess home instead of himself. Dean would be the one to suffer. It was Dean who would have to bury Sam's cold, lifeless corpse. Who would have to live for the rest of his life with the guilt of knowing that his younger brother, the one he had sworn to protect, had taken his place to die because he could not deal with the terrifying thought of Dean being dead. Sam had known Dean his entire life. Dean was just always there. Steady. Unshakeable. Always protecting him. But now their roles were reversed. It was Sam who had made the sacrifice and Dean who would have to stay at home and wait.

And it was both of them who would have to pay the price if he failed.

Breakfast was quiet. No one else was awake yet, but since Bobby probably had a hangover, Jess had stayed up late with him, and Charlie just seemed like the kind of person who liked to sleep in, Sam wasn't surprised. The silence reminded him of the morning he had woken in his house with Dean gone and his father still asleep. The last time he remembered being normal.

At least the sunrise was pretty. Gold and the palest of pink and hints of orange, before slowly fading into familiar blue. It was oddly fascinating to watch. Back in Twelve, he rarely got to truly appreciate sunrises. Even though he was often up before dawn, there were more productive things to do rather than sit and stare at the sky.

Jess entered quietly and gave him her trademark small smile. The corners of his mouth lifted back.

"Are you nervous about today?"

She shrugged, but her eyes deceived her. Of course she was nervous. Hell, he was borderline terrified, and he was relatively skilled with handling weapons. According to Bobby, Jess was good with knives, although Sam had no idea how she could have acquired that skill. Then again, didn't her parents own the bakery in Twelve? He supposed you had to know your way around a knife if you were handling bread and the like all the time.

"I'm pretty much terrified," he admitted. Her smile grew relieved.

"Yeah, I'm freaked," she said, sitting down with a gusty sigh. "I mean, did you see those other tributes? I'm at least a hundred pounds lighter than most of them and about a foot shorter."

Sam nodded. "But you're smarter than a lot of them. You can use your weakness to your advantage. They'll ignore you if you just keep your head low."

She snorted. "And then I'll get killed by whoever is left."

"Don't say that," he said, shaking his head. "You're smart. You're quick. You've got a good chance."

Jess snorted quietly again, showing her obvious lack of faith in herself, before picking up a role and nibbling it, signifying that she no longer wanted to keep talking. Sam sighed inwardly and turned his attention to his food. They ate together in comfortable silence, both of them decidedly not looking forward to when they would have to face the other tributes.

After a few minutes of quiet eating, Bobby entered so silently that Sam only realized he was in the room by the smell of alcohol that constantly hung around Bobby like a faint cloud. He appeared to be sober for once, which was reassuring, considering he was supposed to give them some instructions on what they were supposed to do in the arena and in training.

Bobby grabbed a plate and filled it with heaps of food. Sausage, eggs, stew, and roles all piled next to each other and got mixed up in the process. Sam wasn't even sure if Dean could eat that much food in one sitting. Bobby sat with a grunt at the table and began attacking his food. It was difficult not to feel queasy watching him. Sam averted his gaze and instead locked eyes with Jessica. Her face was torn between mild disgust and amusement watching their mentor.

In another life, maybe there could have been something between them. Jessica was exactly the kind of girl Sam liked. Smart, funny, courageous, easygoing. She was sensitive, understanding. The more Sam got to know her, the more he fell for her. But he knew, deep down, that nothing could ever, would ever develop. Only one person would make it out of the Games alive. And he would not be able to live the rest of his life with the guilt of knowing that he could have gotten her out alive instead of him.

Assuming, of course, that he would even survive the first day. Which was pretty much the whole point of having Bobby around, to have him teach them what to do. Judging by the massive piles of food still on his plate, however, it might be awhile before he would start a lecture.

Half an hour and two full plates later, Bobby sat back and examined both of them critically. A few increasingly uncomfortable seconds later he nodded.

"Well, don't be stupid and you'll do fine," he said gruffly. "Don't show off your stuff to the other tributes. You want to go into the Games with every advantage you can possibly get. Practice stuff you can't do very well. Every strength matters when you're in the arena."

Sam nodded. That made sense. He would miss archery, but he needed to brush up with his knife skills, and some hand-to-hand combat might be useful. Dean liked to push him around a little at home, so he knew a few basic moves to avoid being pinned, but you could never get good enough at something when you were in the Games. Every advantage was critical.

Bobby stood up and took a sip from a flask he carried around with him. "One more thing. Keep it up with the working-together image. Trust me on this." With that, he left. Sam stared after him. What the hell did that mean? Did people think he and Jess were working as a team now? The hand-holding at the ceremony might have given that impression, and they were both twelve-year-olds from Twelve who were both scared out of their minds but had decent skill.

They were a team.

Jess looked almost as confused as he was, but Charlie popped in abruptly before she could inquire about anything.

"Just an FYI guys, we head down at ten. It's not a big deal, but don't fool around in there either, okay? You'll want to be taken seriously by the other tributes."

"Thanks Charlie," Sam said absently, Bobby's words still playing in his head. Did he want the other tributes to think of him and Jess as a team? He didn't want to stand out any more than he already had, and he especially didn't want Jess to stand out either. Protecting her would be hard enough as it was without the other tributes figuring out their friendship.

Ten o'clock came and they headed down to the training rooms. Seeing the other tributes up close was a serious reality check. Save for maybe two others, they were all much bigger than he was, and had the look in their eyes that Sam identified as bloodlust. He wouldn't last five minutes in the arena. As the head trainer listed off the rules, Sam examined each member of the group. The Career tributes were easily the most formidable of them all, with the exception of Gordon.

Gordan was tall, athletic, and muscular. He had large hands and long legs and arms. But his eyes were what concerned Sam. They were cold. Flat. Hard. They were the eyes of someone who would kill you with no hesitation, who would betray his best friend if it would benefit him in any way.

And it infuriated Sam. Because what right did this vile excuse for a human have to stand in front of him and act like he was so special and important? This man, had Sam not volunteered, would have stabbed Dean without so much as a moment's hesitation. He would have taken away the one thing in Sam's life that he could always count on. His big brother. His protector. His best friend. Gordan would have stolen that all away from him in just a second, and Sam would have had to watch the whole thing unfold while he was stuck, helpless, back in District 12. He would have had to watch his worst nightmare come to life.

But that wasn't going to happen now. Sam had stepped up and volunteered for Dean, and if he couldn't save Jess, then he would fight with everything he had in him to make it home to his brother. Sam wasn't stupid, after all. He knew how seriously Dean took his role as Sam's protector and how much it must be hurting him to have to watch his brother be in mortal danger and be completely helpless to stop it. If Sam died, it wouldn't hurt him nearly as much as it would hurt Dean.

Sam was pulled out of his thoughts by the other tributes dispersing. He hadn't realized that he had missed the entire lecture that the trainer had been giving, but he supposed it was of little importance in the long run. It was rather ironic though that in school, he paid close attention to everything as if his life depended on it, and when his life was really on the line, he spaced out. Dean would have had something to say about that.

Jessica nudged him with her shoulder. "Earth to Sam, do you want to go?"

"Yeah, sure. Bobby said to stick together, right? What do you want to do first?"

She looked thoughtfully around for a minute. "Knots?"

Sam snorted. "One of the most crucial survival skills to have, how could I have overlooked that?"

Jessica rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Winchester."

Sam gave a small smile and obediently followed her over to the knot station, his dreary mood lifting somewhat at the friendly bickering that he and Dean used to trade so often. Dean would like Jess, Sam decided. He would like Bobby and Charlie too. Who knew, maybe someday he would meet them. If Sam made it home alive, he would introduce them.

 _If._

 **A/N: OH MY GOSH IT'S BEEN FOREVER I AM SO SORRY. You have NO idea how sorry I am that I haven't posted sooner. It's been almost three months! But I started school and homework has been drowning me lately. My inspiration took a nosedive too, so when I did have time to write, it just never worked out. But here I am again! Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things soon. Next update will probably be awhile in coming, but I will try to get writing whenever I can. Sorry if this chapter is a little shorter, I'm just trying to get something published right now. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO HAS NOT ABANDONED THIS STORY YET. YOU GUYS MEAN THE ABSOLUTE WORLD TO ME. Your reviews are much loved and appreciated and they really do help to get me writing again. LOVE YOU GUYS LIKE CRAZY.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _Thud._

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise as Jess's knife found its target with near perfect accuracy. "How did you learn to throw? I can't even do that."

Jess gave him a patronizing look. "Oh, and I suppose if the great Sam Winchester can't do it, then it must be impossible for anyone to do it."

"That's not what I meant," Sam protested. "It's just, where could you learn that in Twelve? People don't just go around teaching knife-throwing lessons."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Where did you learn to shoot a bow, huh?"

"You should know, you've eaten enough of my squirrels."

"My point is, Winchester, that I have my secrets and you have yours. For both of our sakes, let's just shut our mouths and pray to God that what we know is enough to survive."

Sam chuckled. "Fine. But you need to teach me sometime, agreed?"

"Deal."

It was time to move to another station before the other tributes took notice of them. Sam figured it was best to downplay their strengths until they were actually in the arena. Until then, keeping a low profile would be well worth it. He shouldn't have even asked Jess to show him her knife skills, but really, he hadn't believed it until he saw it with his own eyes. Jess could throw a knife with deadly accuracy, which would be invaluable to her in the arena. She could even land some smaller game if she tried.

They moved to the camouflage station, which was barely even touched, and Jess showed off her painting skills by almost flawlessly painting her arm into a tree.

"It's not that hard, really," Jess said when Sam voiced his thoughts on how difficult it must be to paint like that. "If you can just get the shading right, and you understand what you're painting, then it's not hard at all."

"Yeah, whatever," Sam snorted. "Seriously though Jess, you're good. I think you have a shot in the Games."

Her smile faded somewhat. "That's sweet Sam, but have you seen the people we're up against? I'm three times smaller than most of them, for God's sake. I'll be dead in two minutes tops."

"Don't say that," Sam said gently. "You're smart, fast, you can throw a killer knife. You'll definitely be one of the top eight."

Jess gave him a long, searching look. "And what about you, Sam? What'll happen to you in the Games?"

There it was. The one thing they hadn't really talked about. Only one of them would make it out alive, and Sam wasn't exactly planning his coming-home party.

"Well, ah, I'll be okay. Don't worry about me." He smiled disarmingly, hoping she would be convinced.

But when did the Winchester family ever have good luck?

"Sam, you need to make it home, not me. My family doesn't really need me. But you have a dad and a brother who both want you back more than anything. My family loves me, but they'll move on. Do you think Dean will?"

The knot in Sam's stomach tightened painfully. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

Jess gave him a sad look, but she nodded. "Okay, but we need to talk more later. And you aren't getting out of it, Sam Winchester."

Sam's dimples made a brief appearance. Talking to Jess sometimes made him feel like he was being scolded by a mother. Of course, he would never really know what that was like, but one could imagine.

* * *

The rest of training was all a bit of a blur for Sam. It wasn't that he wasn't paying attention to the other tributes and his surroundings, it was more that the terror was starting to kick in full force and it was very difficult to see through a vague haze of fear all the time. But before he knew it, it was almost time to go before the judges and show off his skill, or lack thereof.

If he thought he was scared, Jess appeared almost catatonic. She was constantly tapping her fingers on something, her eyes darting around distractedly. Sam had had to pull her away from getting a knife to the skull at the end of the final practice when a tribute was showing off her knife throwing skills. Jess had walked in front of the target just when the tribute had released the knife. That seemed to jar Jess temporarily out of her daze, and Sam lead her away from the training center listening to her mutters of "That wasn't a good shot, I could do better than that," with a cross of amusement and worry. Sam was a worrier at heart, something Dean enjoyed teasing him for, and he was extremely concerned for Jess. She couldn't afford to be distracted like that in front of the judges or in the Games.

The day arrived, and Sam approached it with about as much cheer and positivity as Cas approached anything in life. Which was to say, he was less than thrilled about it. He hated doing anything he was good at in front of people, especially when they were judging him against twenty-three other much more skilled people. Sam was smart, very smart actually, and he knew that his odds of getting even a remotely good score were astronomically small. He wasn't especially good at anything, really. Jess would almost certainly impress the judges with her knife-throwing, which would be even more impressive considering her size, but Sam wasn't naturally good at much. He was more skilled at laying snares and traps for animals rather than shooting a bow at them. He could shoot, and shoot pretty well, actually, but it was more Dean's area of expertise than his. His knife-throwing skills were good, but he didn't want to take that attention away from Jess.

He sat waiting with the other tributes, listening to their names being called one by one and the room slowly emptying, until it was just him and Jess. Finally, his name was called.

Sam stood, his hands shaking until he curled them into fists and released them a few times. This was it. Time to see if he could get a good enough score that maybe a few people might consider sponsoring him.

"Good luck, Winchester," Jess said with a faint smile. "Show off your bow skills and you'll do fine."

"Good luck to you too," Sam replied, matching her smile. "Paint your arms and throw some knives. They'll love you." With that, he left the room.

When he arrived in the gymnasium, it was obvious that the judges were totally smashed, having had to watch twenty-two other tributes show off their skills with deadly weapons. Sam repressed a groan. He would be lucky if even one of them paid close enough attention to actually give him a score.

He headed immediately over to the archery station and selected a bow. He gave the string an experimental tug and was disappointed that it didn't feel like the one he had at home. It was too tight, and the arrows were different. As he strode over to the dummy in the center of the room, he was already mentally adjusting how he would shoot, how he would stand. Sam fit an arrow to the bow and pulled the string back, aiming directly for the dummy's heart. He aimed a few inches more to the left than he would normally, and let the arrow fly. It landed with a solid thump right in the heart. Without even taking the time to blink, he spun on his heel and aimed another arrow for the shooting range across the room, firing the arrow. Not a direct bullseye, but close enough to be impressive. He fired three more, one after the other, and the last one landed on the bullseye.

He was doing it, Sam realized. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more of the Gamemakers paying attention to him, and they looked intrigued. Sam went over to the knife station and grabbed a few smaller knives. He wouldn't steal Jessica's glory, but he do just enough to show the judges that he could do more than shoot a bow. He went back to the dummy and threw the knives, all of them striking near the heart.

Sam was finished. He stepped back and faced the Gamemakers. Most of them were facing him, and there was no disinterest or scorn on their faces.

"Thank you for your time, Mister Winchester. You may go," one of them said, giving him a polite nod. Sam nodded back, feeling awkward. He turned to leave, but as he passed the archery section, he couldn't resist one last shot. He grabbed the bow, strung it, and fired at the punching bag. It hit it square in the middle. Without looking at the Gamemakers, he turned and left the room.

* * *

 **A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS! I had no excuse not to finally sit myself down and write something, and it is Christmas after all, so here's my little gift to you guys. I'm sorry it's kind of short, but I couldn't really make it any longer or end it any other way. I'm trying to get this story moving along a little more and not focus so much on the drama, because I know that gets boring to read after a while. I really hope you like this chapter and you aren't bored with this story yet. I'm not planning on abandoning this fic anytime soon. Have a fantastic Christmas everyone, and thank you _so much_ to everyone who favorites/follows/reviews this story. Every time you leave a review it encourages me to keep working on this. I'm not writing it just for me, I'm writing it for you guys too, so don't be afraid to give me positive criticism. I try to write what you want to read, after all. So again, MERRY CHRISTMAS, and have a great holiday. Love you all!**


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